City's leading lights aglow for Opera fete

Edvins Beitiks, OF THE EXAMINER STAFF

Published 4:00 am, Saturday, September 12, 1998

1998-09-12 04:00:00 PDT SAN FRANCISCO -- They stood in the back at the opening of "Turandot," paying $16, maybe more, three lines deep in the darkness, looking to see if someone cared about the peacock wrap-around honesty of music, some black tux going weak in the knees, each opera believer certain that the green-roof, blue-sky backdrop of San Francisco's opening night will somehow set them apart.

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In the background, a combination of Chinese and Irish hand-held instruments led Mayor Brown into the night with Danielle Steel ( "Is that Danielle Steel, is that her?" ) and "Nash Bridges" star Don Johnson.

Johnson looked people in the eye, tuxedos and all, even brushing off a bit of the Netherlands, making the bump, hug and air kiss that has become the whole world of San Francisco a little more than expected.

Believing that opera is the best of both worlds, Johnson said, "I don't go to galas just to be going to galas. As I understand it, this was Puccini's last opera, something to give him an honest touch of life."

To Johnson, Friday's gathering was better fare. He showed kindness to a purple-haired woman saying, "I'm you're biggest fan!" He was honest and fair, lighting up a stogie if it came to that.

Johnson, looking around at the mayor and the decent life of the orange light crashing across the front of City Hall, said, "I understand. It makes sense to me."

There are images of the "Titanic" - men in black tuxes looking down at the program of the half-rich, the Nouveau American, nodding to Mr. Nobody - thought to be forgotten, laughing to the pancakes. Here are men in tails, tipping over a little, as if the ship was dropping, port-side, the end; the Bismarck, maybe, believing it was just this close to the coast.

It doesn't wear well, this business of finding life behind the best-dressed people, but George Shultz has been there before. Nodding toward his true kindness, Charlotte Mailliard Shultz, Shultz said, "I've been to a lot of opera openings, but this one in San Francisco . . . it's a beautiful thing."

Marty Schainbaum touched the tip of his top hat, saying,

"How can you go to the first night of the opera without a top hat?" Schainbaum looked at his bride of one year and smiled, saying, "This is it."

"They have a fine thing." Oh, there were jokes, remembrances of time past. Herwitz talked about people thinking things would get better, but Bill Poland didn't see it that way.

Poland, a local contractor picking at ribs in the veterans' center, said, "I guess if it's 10 times too much to think about, we're OK. My wife thinks, "OK, this is better.' "

Poland, a native of Houston who lives in Ross, said,

"Tell you what, you think you're doing OK and the next thing you know, things don't work out. I think my wife is right."

Poland stood at one of the small tables thinking his hands were thick, wearing a Texas bow tie with his tux, red and blue and white star above the light. "Texas," he said.

"Going to happen whether I like it or not."

Poland, sipping at a white-colored wine, said, "This is something else. This is unique."

There were drinks in the hand - whiskey and scotch - that left men laughing. And when the world was two times too green, Poland was ready.

"Figures I'm going to be in trouble from the start," said Poland. "You want to say it's OK to end up with no fine time."

He smiled, saying, "You got guys who like opera and guys like me who don't like it that much but . . . "

Poland's wife, Mary, has worked to make the opera visible, but Poland said it's half-and-half for a world of laughing. He waited, saying, "I don't like opera that much, but it's like your wife says, "You're going to like this or it's a divorce.' No choice. Nothing on your side."

Herwitz had to laugh. He looked over at the top hat, bought in the everyday by Bobbi Schainbaum, left him chuckling at his first, fine face. He looked at Mayor Brown, stepping over the red carpet ( "That's Danielle Steel, isn't it?" ) and nodded to himself. They parted, laughing.

And in the end, Poland picked at a couple of ribs and touched a hand to his Texas bow tie. He laughed, saying,

"Leave me alone."

Shultz, high-profile secretary of State in the Reagan administration, said, "There are times to say it's different. You're not sure you want more than this."

They found the Titanic spilling over on its side, lost to the cold waters of the North Atlantic, thinking it might get better than this, one more chance to go down there into the deep, $30,000 and more to say you stepped on the deck of the ship that died.

It's OK, they say. It's being alone, figuring some way that people forget, and remember, and forget.

evening featured a revival of Puccini's "Turandot" ; outside, attention was focused on the pomp and circumstance, the gossip and the fashion statements. [ Review and Cyn City, C-1&lt;